


Takes a Licking

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Marauders' Era, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dog licks can be telling</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takes a Licking

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

His nose was buried in fur. His hands, too, were meshed in wiry softness, his arm flung around a solid midriff. He felt hollow and drained, as he always did the morning after, felt as though he'd been drawn and quartered, then sewn together again with haphazard brutality. But the body next to him distracted him from his aches, giving him something beyond himself to cling to.

It seemed as if he were five years old again, huddled in his bed, hugging the stuffed lion he'd had as a child. He'd loved that thing, carried it with him all around the house, worn its tawny mane to tatters with his affection. What had become of that lion? He'd shredded it, he supposed, on some full-moon night. His mother must have left it in his shuttered pen, hoping to offer comfort against the coming of the wolf, and in the morning Remus had found only golden pieces. But what he held now was not his maimed toy: this warmth was breathing, and he was breathing, with the even pace of near somnolence. He was no danger to this one, would never wake to find that he had torn what he loved to bits. They had both survived the night's onslaught for another month, and the scent he drew in with each breath was not that of fabric or yarn, but the safe, damp, innocent musk of a dog.

With a murmur he burrowed closer. A delicate tracery of pain flared on the skin of his forearm when he moved, but it faded quickly. He had endured much worse, and the yearning to clutch far outweighed the hurt. He drew his legs up into a fetal curl, wrapping around the big form beside him as best he could. /Paddy,/ he thought muzzily. Better than the best stuffed animal, sturdy enough for a thousand hugs and more. He wove his fingers into the thick ruff, pressing all of himself against the coarse-silken welcome of fur.

It was velvet on the insides of his arms, the insides of his thighs. Distantly, among the shrouds of his drowsing rational mind, he knew that there were plenty of softer things in the world, that if someone were to lay a palm to velour, and then to this dog's coat, the cloth would claim the honors. But in cloth there was none of this lulling, stirring heat, none of the scent that soothed him even as it made him want to clench his hands, to push his hips forward. Moving blindly, like a newborn creature with eyes yet unopened, he began to rub himself into that warmth, and his half-aimless rocking met the firm resistance of flesh.

Diffuse pleasure sharpened, centering beneath the pit of his belly into something piercing and distinct. He was hard, and it was good; for long, sleepy moments those two certainties eclipsed all else. His body moved of its own accord, grip tightening, hips thrusting in sweet little circles. He made a small sound, and when his lips parted, strands of hair crept between them.

From just above his ear came a huff like a sigh.

He opened his eyes to near-darkness at the noise. His head was resting on an abused pillow. There were long, ragged tears in the bedspread on which he lay. From an unseen canopy descended a tumble of drapery, the nearest swath of which was raked with claw marks.

Remus blinked, coming awake all at once. He was in the bed in Shrieking Shack. Next to him, watching him with eyes bright and ears uplifted, was Padfoot.

/Sirius./

And he was naked, wrapped around the dog, clinging like there was no tomorrow, his hips frozen in mid-grind.

/Oh, damnation./

With all the strength of calm he could summon, he unwound his arms and shifted himself backwards, breaking the contact between them.

"Sorry," he whispered. His face felt as inflamed as his groin, although for a different reason altogether. As he lowered his eyes, his gaze fell on the vast, black paws that lay against the bedspread. It wasn't that he'd never woken up next to Sirius--nor was it the first time one or the other of them had been inspired by their mutual proximity. But this was Padfoot, and Sirius or not, Padfoot was definitely a dog.

A dog who proceeded to wriggle nearer, then lick Remus sloppily on the cheek. As Remus stared at him, he opened his mouth and panted, grinning an unabashed and toothy grin.

It was difficult to remain mortified in front of an animal who behaved like that, even when the animal was really one's best friend. He still felt ashamed--nothing like this had happened that time in the woods, and he'd been just as naked then--but as long as Sirius didn't mind, Remus supposed it would be all right. He'd probably get teased about it as soon as Sirius had regained human vocal cords and speech.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Remus rolled onto his back and tried to steady his breathing. He knew from experience that his erection would fade if he ignored it with sufficient obstinacy. Just like throwing off the Imperius curse, he thought. All it took was willpower.

"You could change back, you know," he croaked at Padfoot. The sound was horrible; his voice was still raw with the strain of transformation. Wincing, he scraped rough bits of sleep from his eyes, then turned his arm to examine the bite marks that decorated it. They were all shallow this time; the bleeding had already stopped. "Not that I'd want you to rush into anything," he added.

The dog rose to his paws. Remus looked up. He felt a prickle of anticipation as he always did, glad at the chance to watch that wondrous, seamless leap from one shape to another. Padfoot, however, had something else in mind. He leaned forward until his nose was level with Remus' face--and licked again.

The broad tongue swiped across Remus' cheek and nose, over the furrow between his brows, even over his eyelids when he squeezed them shut. "Padfoot," he coughed, trying not to laugh, "quit it." He averted his head, but the licking persisted without mercy. A cold nose pressed into his earlobe, and he thrashed for a second, forgetting his various hurts. "Stop it, you, that tickles!" As if encouraged by the suggestion of tickling, Padfoot began to assault his neck and shoulders, then probed into his armpit, snuffling with noisy enthusiasm. Much to Remus' dismay, a snigger gurgled out of him. Even he was growing unconvinced by his own protests. "What do you think you're--/Sirius!/"

Padfoot had suddenly lifted his muzzle, and his final lick caught Remus squarely on the mouth.

Sputtering, Remus seized the dog by the scruff of his neck and held him fast. "That's about enough," he said, hoarse but smiling. "You're as bad as the foxhunters."

Padfoot blinked and cocked his head.

"Attacking someone who can't defend himself--it's unsporting. And don't give me that look. How am I supposed to get at you through all that hair?"

Padfoot merely continued to watch him, pale gaze luminous and steady. Then, with careful deliberation, the dog leaned in and lapped at Remus' lips.

Startled out of thought, Remus lay still. The scent of Padfoot's breath drifted over him. When the wet caresses ended, he lifted a finger to his mouth, feeling strangely light with fluttering disbelief. He knew a kiss when he felt one. That had been more than play--even if it was a kind of kissing they'd never done before.

"Paddy?" he whispered.

The dog's tail wagged.

With a shaky exhalation, Remus shifted against the pillow. Tilting his head, he reached to brush the fur on each side of the dog's face. He looked up into the earnest, glowing eyes, eyes that were so plainly not human, and still it seemed to him that the warmth in them was wholly familiar.

He licked his lips. "You want to...do it a bit more?"

Padfoot gave a low whine. For a moment Remus just stroked him, as he would have petted any animal seeking human touch. Then he nodded.

"Okay."

One paw fell beside his right shoulder, the other near his left. The warm licks resumed, beginning with his forehead, spreading a path down his cheekbones, then to his chin. With slow, gentle strokes Padfoot coaxed his lips open, slipped between them, lapped the insides of his mouth. Remus shuddered; the arousal he'd tried to will away was springing back up in him with renewed force. Feeling that, unable to deny it or blame it on the confusion of sleep, he flinched with a moment's dread of what they were doing, what this must mean about him. On the heels of that came a rush of denial: /It's Sirius it's Sirius only with Sirius--/

Then he stopped needing to tell himself, because he simply knew it.

It wasn't easy to kiss back. There were the teeth, and the shape of the long muzzle, and the big, wet nose that kept bumping his upper lip. He had to stifle laughter at the ridiculousness of it--but then their tongues met, sliding along one another, and Remus began to feel as faint as he always did when Sirius was crouched over him, mouth on his mouth. He was about to throw his arms around Padfoot, to pull that living blanket of fur down onto him, when a creak from beneath the floorboards made him stop.

From the lower level of the Shack came the sound of footsteps.

Remus drew a strangled breath. /Madam Pomfrey./

There were thirteen steps from the bottom of the stairs to the top.

They looked at each other wildly as the footfalls started to ascend. For an instant of delirious uncertainty, Remus wondered which would be worse: to be caught in the Shrieking Shack snogging Sirius, or to be caught in the Shrieking Shack snogging a large black dog. Perhaps he could convince Madam Pomfrey that the dog had been trying to eat him--but Sirius was already changing, and Remus was grateful as never before for the swiftness of the Animagus transformation. Between one instant and the next, it was no longer Padfoot leaning over him, but a tall, leggy, black-haired boy.

Six steps.

Sirius gave a fierce, almost dizzying grin, then bent and soundlessly kissed him. With an upward lunge and a smooth snatch the other boy grabbed something from the high shelf on the wall near the bed, dragged it over his head, and vanished.

Three steps.

Weight shifted on the mattress as Sirius slipped off the bed, invisible. It was lucky James was so liberal about lending that Cloak of his, thought Remus. Lately they'd have been hard pressed to do without it.

Two steps.

Remus recovered enough presence of mind to pull a blanket over himself and roll onto his side, shielding from view what otherwise might have caused quite a shock to Madam Pomfrey.

One step. He closed his eyes.

The door opened.

"Good morning, dear. How are you feeling?"

He managed what he thought was a convincing series of blinks at the nurse, who came over to his bedside, a lantern in one hand. "Tired," he whispered, putting almost no air behind the word at all.

"Of course you are. I've just woken you, haven't I? I'm glad you've been getting some rest, at least." Madam Pomfrey glanced at the shelf where Remus' robe and clothing lay, safe out of the wolf's reach, still neatly folded from the previous night. Her gaze took in his bare shoulders, the red traces of teeth on his skin. Remus extended his arm for her to examine as she set the lantern on the bedside table. "Is this the worst of it, here on your arm?"

He murmured an affirmative.

"Well! You hardly need me here at all." Madam Pomfrey gave one of her rare, crinkly-mouthed smiles, the kind that always surprised Remus. It reminded him that even the brusqueness she usually showed to her charges sprang from wholehearted care, that in the course of his years at Hogwarts, he'd been the beneficiary of more of those smiles than most students ever glimpsed.

"Let me just disinfect these bites--" lifting her wand, the nurse did so with a muttered spell, "--and that's that."

"Thank you."

"Now, I'll just pop outside while you get dressed." She pointed her wand at the shelf that held his clothes.

"Actually," said Remus, keeping his voice muddy and weak, "if it's all right, could I--could I sleep here for a while? I'm...not sure I'm up to going back to the castle yet."

She blinked at the request--Remus was generally eager to escape the Shack, even after bad nights--but her eyes quickly softened. "Yes, of course, dear. I'll come and check on you in a few hours, how's that?"

"Thanks." He let his eyelids float shut, as though the effort of holding them open had become too strenuous. It was easy to sink into the ruse, to almost believe he was as sleepy as he pretended to be. He felt a twinge of guilt at deceiving Madam Pomfrey, who was one of the few at Hogwarts who knew him to be a werewolf, and was ceaselessly kind to him in spite of, or perhaps because of that fact. But he knew Sirius was crouching unseen in the corner, trying not to breathe, and that too was for his sake. If the choice were his to make, Remus preferred not to abandon their private space so hastily.

A hand rested briefly, lightly on his hair, and then Madam Pomfrey's footsteps carried her through the door, down the staircase. Remus opened his eyes, listening intently for the creak of the trapdoor below. When it came, he relaxed and rolled onto his back, turning his face toward the dim corners of the room.

The air shimmered and parted, and out of the invisible folds stepped Sirius. Taking a massive gulp of air, the other boy chucked the Cloak at the foot of the bed.

"Got rid of her, didn't you?" Still partly breathless, Sirius climbed onto the edge of the four-poster and scooted across it. "I think she fancies you, Moony. She's never that nice to anybody else. Not even when the Willow nearly took Davey Gudgeon's eye out--"

"He was being reckless," said Remus. "She isn't soft on people who do deliberately stupid things."

"Or when James broke his arm into a dozen pieces during that match against Slytherin--"

"She's none too soft on Quidditch injuries, either. After all, they could be avoided by not playing Quidditch." He smothered a smile at the look of horror on his friend's face. Sirius would sooner do away with the entire hospital wing than do away with Quidditch, although participants in the latter tended to be dependent on the former. "What time is it?"

Sirius glanced at his watch. "Quarter past ten."

"You ought to be in Herbology."

"I skip Herbology all the time."

This was true. "I know. It's a miracle you passed last term." Remus tried to recall what Professor Sprout had said he'd be missing in this morning's lesson. "I think there might have been a quiz today." When Sirius only shrugged, Remus continued, "What I mean to say is that I'm all right, and you /could/ leave me here and go to class with a clear conscience."

Sirius arched one dark eyebrow, as if to inquire what on earth a clear conscience had to do with him. "Moony. I don't want to go mucking about with dirt and answering questions about the fertilization methods of flesh-eating plants. I want to stay with you." He hunkered over Remus. "You know zoology's much more my thing. We could do our own little lesson here." His face was deadpan. "On canine behavior, for instance. You were getting a fair start with that earlier."

Remus cast his eyes down. The interruption of the nurse had unnerved him more than he liked to admit. "I wasn't quite awake just then," he murmured.

"Maybe not, but I was. I was hoping you wouldn't stop."

Well, that was typical enough. "You were hoping, or Padfoot was?"

"No difference."

Their eyes met, and it was plain that Sirius was no longer teasing. Remus had known for a long time that becoming Moony was very different for him than becoming Padfoot was for Sirius, since the transformation of an Animagus did nothing to alter the personality of the wizard in question. Still, he'd never considered the notion in this particular light.

"What's it like for you?" he asked at last. "Being Padfoot."

For a moment the other boy frowned. Remus could see that he was considering the question.

"It's hard to explain," Sirius said. "Obviously it's not the same as being human. Sounds and smells and the like are much stronger, of course. And I get the urge to do, well, animal things. Like that night we went to Hogsmeade." His grin was only slightly sheepish. "I mean, I wouldn't normally go round sticking my nose in rubbish bins, but it seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time. I still /know/ everything that I know, and I can still think in words if I concentrate--so I don't feel like I lose anything. It's almost like having two minds, human and dog. The two sort of overlap, and I can slip between one and the other." He shrugged. "I dunno. I'm still me." With a lazy stretch he arched toward the canopy above, then shifted to settle himself along Remus' side, trapping warmth between their bodies and the layers of cloth that separated them. He began to nose the edge of the blanket downward with dogged single-mindedness. "So it only makes sense that Padfoot's mad for you, too."

"Really."

"Mm-hmm. You smell better than anything."

"Do I?"

"Better than cat piss, better than week-old turkey dinner--"

"Cat piss!"

"Much better." Sirius hid a grin against his chest, eyes flickering up at his laughing outrage. "Want to give it another go?"

Remus went still. For a time he didn't answer, thinking of the feel of fur on bare skin. It came to him that he did want to feel that again, and he shivered at the recognition. Then again, the discovery had probably been inevitable. One of these mornings it was bound to have happened, now that he no longer emerged from the wolf nights too broken in body to crave heat and touch.

Watching him, Sirius raised his chin, then set it down again.

"I'll change back if you want me to," he said softly. "The minute you say so, I will."

"I know."

"I wouldn't do anything you don't want me to, Moony."

"I know you won't." With sure hands Remus reached to pat the fine, black hair, smoothing it under his palms. It wasn't fear, this expanding lightness that buoyed his heart, lifting him from the traces of shame. When he worked his fingers behind Sirius' ears and scratched there, the bemusement in the other boy's face made him smile. "It's still you."

After a few more blinks, Sirius answered the smile. He eased himself upward, slid his arms above Remus' head, studied Remus nose to nose until they both nearly went cross-eyed. Then he flicked out his tongue and lapped Remus on the lips, exactly as Padfoot had done. They were laughing as they kissed, although soon the laughter quieted into small, artless murmurs. Remus felt Sirius get on hands and knees, felt when the nuzzling at his ear became fuzzy and moist. He reached upward, and his hands met not sweater-clad torso, but Padfoot's furry underbelly.

Warm tongue bathed his earlobe. Padfoot lingered there for a long while, then began to lave his neck, stroking every patch of flesh with slow, patient diligence: chin, the hollow of his throat, the thin arc of his collarbones. Down his arms, underneath them, making him squirm at the tickle of whiskers. Remus lifted a trembling hand, and that too was accepted--he watched as Padfoot took each finger in turn, one by one, giving special attention to the joinings between them, then his knuckles, then the center of his palm. It was becoming very hard to breathe.

"Does it taste good?" he asked in a whisper. Strokes to his wrist, steady, steady. Had his wrist always been so sensitive? "Salty, I suppose." His voice caught on a stuttering laugh. "Better than turkey dinner?"

Padfoot nipped his hand, not sharply, and turned to look at him. Remus closed his eyes, smiling under that pale regard. "It feels good. I hope you won't stop."

He heard panting, and supposed that must signify agreement. With his eyes shut, he was not quite prepared for the wet warmth circling his nipple, the tongue-tip just brushing the peak. He made an incoherent sound, and found his hands full of fur as he grabbed mindlessly at the dog's head. He had to force his grip to relent, had to clench his teeth while Padfoot licked him with the devotion due a fine dish of raspberry ice cream, neglecting nothing. When the prying tongue reached his navel, his hips gave an involuntary buck, and Padfoot's head lifted, eyes glittering. Remus nearly groaned.

"Don't smirk like that. It's bad enough already."

The black tail wagged. Still holding to Padfoot's fur, Remus dragged himself upright and buried his face against the dog's neck. He was beginning to pant himself. It was profane, it must be, that he'd been brought to this point so easily, so inexorably, but he was committed now. He tightened his hands as shudders racked him. "It's good, I don't want you to stop. Please." He knew he was babbling, knew he was begging; need had rendered him too helpless to care. As though in sympathy, Padfoot whined, then nudged at the blanket that had been pushed down around his waist. With a gulp as if he were drowning, Remus shoved the covering away. Padfoot lowered his muzzle, made a few desultory swipes around the dark thatch of curled hair, but Remus kept tugging at his ruff, whimpering for deliverance.

It was mercy, the first long, slow lick to his shaft. The second, a cautious tasting of the moisture beading from the slit, was more like torment. He had barely enough scraps of thought left to hope Sirius would be careful of teeth; after that he merely clung, hiding his eyes, trying not to howl. His breath came in hisses, his heartbeat in fits. From tip to root Padfoot licked him, once, then twice over, kneeling on forepaws to give the same care to the underside, nuzzling gently at his balls. Remus jerked his hips; his fingers in the dog's coat kneaded hard. It was almost enough, almost.

"Please," he whispered, "please--I need to--Sirius--" But it was no use begging for this. Releasing one hand, he fisted it around himself. Within that clench of heat he could thrust, fall back into the pillows, pump into the curve of his fingers as he dug both heels into the bed. He was slick, and already so close that he scarcely found a rhythm before he came, gasping. His mind went sharply white, his whole body slack. His hand sagged limp at his side, and Padfoot cleaned him as he trembled, lapping up the spill that lingered on his belly. The last licks were tender, almost motherly.

Exhaustion surged over Remus like the return of a forgotten tide. Eyes shut, he drifted on it, let it carry him through the liquid fallout of pleasure. He thought of nothing: he could not quite bring himself to think of what they had just done, although he was grateful for the warmth that settled against him, warding off the chill of his nakedness. He turned his face toward it, then murmured in confusion when his cheek brushed the smoothness of knit wool.

He squinted sideways through tangled lashes. Sirius was arranged snugly around him, head propped on one hand, eyes lidded.

"You changed back."

A wry, uncurling smile. "I'm impressed you noticed."

Remus pawed feebly at the grey sweater. He hadn't expected to find himself so aggrieved at the loss of fur. "Why did you?"

"Well, for one thing, Padfoot's hopeless at pillow talk." There was laughter lurking in Sirius' voice.

"Hmm." The sweater was perhaps not so bad, after all, nor was the hand that pushed the hair back from his brow, stroking lightly. "What's the other thing?"

"The other thing," Sirius said, murmuring low, "is that I want in your mouth." Remus felt a tremor chase down his spine. Words like those spoken in that tone could always make him quiver, no matter how spent he was. "And I didn't think you'd feel like going that far with a dog."

"I might." He knew it was true. Even if he wasn't ready to contemplate it, he'd crossed one unthinkable line already. The gradations beyond began to seem immaterial. And Padfoot or not, Sirius was Sirius. He'd never been more certain of that. "You could convince me."

Sirius looked astonished. "I'll take you up on that, you know. When you're a bit more awake."

"I am awake. I'm fine." He blinked widely and started to squirm, but Sirius checked him.

"Liar." The kiss was soft. "You're barely conscious. Go on, go to sleep."

"I thought you wanted--"

"Bizarre as it may sound, Moony, I am capable of patience. When it suits my purposes."

He felt Sirius snuggle nearer, head settling by his own, arm draped cozily across his stomach. For the moment, letting himself be persuaded into a nap seemed the simplest course. "Nefarious," he murmured.

"Mm?" The rumble was chest-deep, more of a vibration than a sound.

"Nefarious purposes. Only sort you've got."

"Hush, you."

Remus did. His eyelids drooped. If he'd been drifting before, he must have washed ashore someplace sure and safe, someplace where shapes might change but essences held fast, immutable. Basking in security, nestling beside the one who had given it, he was able to lift his chin and own up to one last, shy truth before sleep undid him. "I liked it."

"So did Padfoot," whispered Sirius. "So did I."


End file.
